


cause some trouble, we'll make it double

by vivacissimo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gay Sex, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pregnancy, Protective Siblings, Unresolved Emotional Tension, finally things get gay, one chapter per POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivacissimo/pseuds/vivacissimo
Summary: “Ben helped with the locks,” Lyanna pipes up, “he’s getting super good at that.”“Not surprising, considering he’s learning it from you,” Ned says a tad too somberly, holding their squirming hostage’s feet together while Benjen wraps the tape around them. He gives the man an almost pitiful look when the job is done. “You should never have fucked with our family,” Brandon imparts darkly, on behalf of them all..Or, the wolves protect one another, keep each other warm, and share their strengths. The pack survives.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Brandon Stark, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark (past), Benjen Stark & Brandon Stark & Lyanna Stark & Ned Stark, Benjen Stark/Jon Connington, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	1. Brandon

**Author's Note:**

> the OG stark siblings love each other something fierce, and they all die tragic deaths alone. @GRRM...I disagree. 
> 
> title from pokemon's notable genderbenders, team rocket.

When Benjen’s face flashes on his phone screen at 2 a.m., Brandon feels his throat constrict. He knocks over the remnants of the lines he and Ashara did hours ago in his haste to answer the call, and curses at the noise that will likely wake her.

He untangles himself from his lover, groping around the floor for his discarded clothes while balancing his phone. “What’s wrong?” he asks gruffly, voice hoarse. Benjen rarely calls, the sibling least likely to get into the kind of trouble Brandon can assist with, but with everything happening right now…

“It’s Lyanna,” Ben cuts him off, confirming Brandon’s worst fears. “Her and father are fighting, and I heard her threaten to kill herself. You said to call you if things ever get to that point-”

“Where is she now,” Brandon queries impatiently, “and did dear old dad lock down Winterfell yet?” Winterfell is a fortress, but in the off-chance that shit gets real, there are lockdown procedures that make it impenetrable from the outside, as well as inescapable from the inside. The system is flawless because Brandon himself designed it. It’s meant as a last resort, but ironically their father has used it a few times on Brandon himself, and at least once on Lyanna. Brandon knows Rickard wishes he’d had such an option on the freezing winter night their mother fled the grounds to escape some hallucinated threat, only to end up dead at the bottom of a river, and the old man is far too liberal with such a heavy handed tactic as a result. There’s a reason Brandon stays away from home more often than not these days.

“Yes,” Ben whispers, “and I’m sneaking my way to her room now.” That explains the whispering.

“Find her and stay with her,” he commands. Two hours ago Brandon was blitzing his mind with drugs, balls deep in the most beautiful woman alive. Now he needs to be the heir to Winterfell. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t try to escape until I get there no matter what she fucking tells you, Ben. Fight her if it comes to that.”

Ben shakily agrees. He loves Lyanna best, and thus struggles with hurting her to help her. No sane person believes Ben could best her in a fight, but her reluctance to truly battle him will slow her down, and it’s all good practice for Ben anyway. _When wolves tussle among themselves it makes the pack stronger,_ Ned and Brandon had explained to their baby brother once. That’s the lesson Brandon’s banking on now. 

“Lya will burn down Winterfell if that’s what it takes to get out. Don’t let that happen,” Brandon warns, then hangs up. He’s now fully dressed, so he gulps some mouthwash and spits it out quickly. 

“Baby?” comes Ashara’s sleepy voice from where she’s lifted her head up, mascara a mess around her eyes. She started the evening crying and ended it screaming, so it’s natural. The phone in her hand spikes his heartbeat, though.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he gives her a boyish smile, “I have to go deal with some family business. Won’t be too long,” he halfway lies. Ashara is generally harmless, but he wants to avoid her saying anything to Arthur, who might turn that information over to Rhaegar, who would _not_ be pleased to hear that Lyanna is in trouble. This is strictly Stark business, and he doesn’t need that pretty motherfucker playing Prince right now.

“Okay,” she says, rolling over and looking back at her screen. The moonlight coming in through the window frames her naked body, which is bare except for scattered scratches and bite marks. He pauses to soak her in. Since he first laid eyes on her, he’s thought she was a work of art.

“Love you,” he mumbles against her forehead, kissing her there before departing. “Love you too,” she returns, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth sweetly. 

He’s halfway home, doing at least twice the speed limit in the sleek black Audi he bought when he was sixteen, Barbrey’s virginity still haunting the backseat, when the car system alerts him to an incoming call from Rhaegar Targaryen himself.

“What?” he asks, in lieu of greeting.

“You know what,” Rhaegar responds flatly, clearly not in the mood for small talk either. “She hasn’t had access to a phone for two days. Benjen’s service was cut off almost immediately after I picked up his call. That was twenty minutes ago. Ashara filled in the rest. Before we parted last, Lya informed me of some… news, which I fear makes this situation slightly more dire.”

“What news,” Brandon says, through gritted teeth. Of course Ben and Ashara both ran to this spoiled silver-haired weirdo, as if Brandon can’t handle his own household. He’ll need to set them straight soon. Rhaegar sighs like an exasperated father, which Brandon rolls his eyes at. Lover boy can’t see him do so, which is too bad.

“Before I say,” he prefaces, in that particularly deep voice that Brandon only hears him use when he’s projecting authority. _Dick_ , Brandon thinks, even as his hands tighten on the steering in anticipation, “just remember that we’re all adults, and how you react to this information is first and foremost a choice.” Rhaegar pauses for effect. Or maybe he’s truly nervous. It would be a first.

Brandon exhales slowly. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but it is definitely not good.

“She is with child,” Rhaegar finally manages, in a low voice meant to approximate some soothing quality.

It does not work. Brandon explodes, raging to the car stereo, “you got my twenty year old sister pregnant, you fucking asshole? Are you fucking serious?” He throws a few more choice insults at Rhaegar, who wisely stays silent. Winterfell is a mere ten minutes away and Brandon is not wasting a second of that time.

“I know this isn’t the last we’ll speak on this, but I wanted to inform you because I believe Lya told your father this same news, and that is what led to their current disagreement. It is imperative that you remove her from there, for her sake as well as the child. I believe that she would be most safe if she were to remain with me, given the similarities between Winterfell’s security system and your own, as well as by her own preference,” Rhaegar plows on, all business. Brandon’s not quite on the same page yet.

“How far along?” he demands, sounding menacing even to himself.

“I swear on all that is sacred that I will tell you everything you want to know once Lyanna is safe. You may even hit me if you wish,” Rhaegar promises, even though his promises have never meant shit to Brandon, “but right now, your sister needs your help. She’s particularly afraid of your reaction, because you are most beloved to her. I may be worthy of your anger, but I am asking you as the man who Lyanna believes worthy of her, to please put those emotions aside, and understand that she desires acceptance from you above all others.”

“Get fucked,” Brandon says, in a tone of bitter acceptance, “I will always be there for my sister,” he flexes his jaw a bit before biting out, “and I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you,” is Rhaegar’s surprisingly grateful response, “I will remain on standby should you require assistance. I monitor the same secure frequency as always.” 

“Fine,” Brandon ends the call then, partly to get the last word, and partly because he can see Winterfell now. As expected, it is shrouded in darkness due to the increased security measures. He parks half a mile out, retrieving his tools, and proceeding on foot. There are traps in many places leading up to the manse, but he knows them intimately. The ones he can’t avoid, he uses a device that manifests a specific order of frequencies in precise time intervals to shut them off. This failsafe was installed in case Winterfell is taken from within. Only he, his father, and that imbecile advisor of his Walys know the pattern. Should all three of them die at once, Winterfell will starve itself to death. 

Medieval, but Lyanna had gotten a kick out of it. Ned was wary, but he was so cautious that such a reaction was actually a compliment. That meant it was a functional deterrent.

Once he arrives at the gate, Brandon checks the hidden system monitor underneath a specific false brick. It doesn’t seem that he’s tripped any alarms, so he forges on, feeling for the pressure-sensitive bricks that extend a mere hair out of the wall when pressed correctly, so as to give him a minor foothold. Climbing it is a pain, he designed this portion mainly with Ben and Jory in mind, nimble as they are. By the time he’s in the courtyard he’s sweating despite the fading winter weather. The courtyard is where things get tricky, and he steels himself mentally, beginning his path through the perhaps overzealous sequence he spent three years crafting.

Half an hour later, Brandon is at the door that, under normal circumstances, he could have strolled straight up to. This whole song and dance irritates him. He’s always despised dramatics, one of the few preferences that he and Lya do not share. If they did share this, she would never have spared sweet, sensitive, sad Rhaegar Targaryen two glances. _Even if she has this baby, please let him never be my goodbrother_ , Brandon pleads to whatever higher power there is. Of all the people for Lyanna to have a _baby_ with. He is going to break that man’s perfect nose. 

He prepares to perform the extensive ritual which will swing the door up from the bottom just enough to allow him to crawl in when the smaller servant's door, at the far left edge of the wall, soundlessly opens. Ned’s face pokes out, signalling him in through there.

“How did you-” Brandon starts, indignant that such a breach would be possible.

“You disabled that door years ago, so you could sneak Barbrey in one night. You were high as hell so I knew you wouldn’t remember to put it back. I would have told you not to come, but the cell service was already off, so I thought it best to wait for you,” Ned explains calmly. The hint of a smile at the corner of Ned’s mouth is the only clue to how pleased he is with himself for having made that discovery. 

“Good old Ned,” Brandon chuckles, now that they’re in the back hallway leading to the secret set of stairs that conveniently has no security cameras. _We don’t spy on ourselves,_ Rickard had told Brandon, _or on our men._ Brandon didn’t know if he agreed with such a principle but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth right now.

Of course, he should have, because standing at the top of the stairs is that rat bastard Walys, wearing the same monotone grey as always, a walkie-talkie hanging at his hip. Just like the phone in Ashara’s hand earlier in the evening, that walkie-talkie spells danger. Any line of communication between Walys and Rickard was problematic these days, the latter’s grief making him more malleable to this opportunist's agenda than ever before.

Waiting for Walys to go first is Ned’s mode of operation, whose lead Brandon begrudgingly follows. Just this once. Because Ned earned it. “Your father might not be so happy to hear of your arrival, given these circumstances,” Walys says, his normal air of superiority turned up several degrees, “and you’ll be disappointed to hear that the locks on your sister’s room have been upgraded since you were last present, Master Brandon.”

Brandon and Ned exchange a glance. Rickard remains unaware of Brandon’s presence, and all that stands between Lyanna and them is a few measly locks? This is the greatest news Walys could have possibly imparted. Brandon would kiss him, if he weren’t about to kill him. 

They circle Walys, forcing him to keep his eyes on them rather than going for the communicator.

“Seems like good tidings all around,” Ned says, voice pitched low, which Brandon takes as his signal to kick off with a controlled lunge towards Walys. As expected, Walys leaps out of the way, close enough that Ned can grab the walkie-talkie from his belt. Unfortunately, Walys’s sole good quality is quick thinking, and he kicks Ned in the shin hard while he grabs the walkie-talkie back. Dear Ned never stood a chance, Brandon laments, as he angles his elbow into Walys’s stomach, sending the walkie-talkie skittering across the floor…

Right to where it lands, directly underneath Lyanna’s sneaker. In a move previously thought impossible, Ned grins ear-to-ear. The crunch of the technology, followed by the splash of the battery pack into a nearby vase, permeates the hallway like the swing of a sword.

“What was that again, about the updated locks and all,” Brandon laughs out loud at Lyanna’s innocent expression, insolent as ever when she continues, “cause I have a few notes I could share.” Walys is going pale and gulping air so that he can scream when Ben joins the party, ripping the bandana off his head and stuffing it into Walys’s mouth. He procures a roll of tape from his back pocket and Brandon helpfully holds Walys down while Ben wraps it around his mouth, carefully avoiding the nose for breathing purposes.

“Excellent thinking on your feet, Benny,” Ned praises, quick to offer feedback. Ben beams, then apologizes, “sorry, Bran, I know I was supposed to keep us in the room, but Lya got restless and figured she’d handle her bedroom door herself. Then we saw Walys walking over here pretty purposefully, so good thing, too.”

“Ben helped with the locks,” Lyanna pipes up, “he’s getting super good at that.”

“Not surprising, considering he’s learning from you,” Ned says a tad too somberly, holding their squirming hostage’s feet together while Benjen wraps the tape around them. He gives the man an almost pitiful look when the job is done. “You should never have fucked with our family,” Brandon imparts darkly, on behalf of them all.

“So what now?” Ben asks breathlessly, looking with wide eyes up at his big siblings. Only sixteen years old, this is one of his first rumbles. And what a moment, with all four of them together. Kid could have done worse, that’s for sure.

Lyanna worries at her lip, but catches Brandon’s laser-focused look head-on. They’ve always had a special way of communicating, and tonight is no different. He knows. She knows he knows. Their next step all depends on her.

“I may--well, I definitely have something to tell you guys,” Lyanna says. _Brave to the end_ , Brandon thinks ruefully. “I had a fight with dad, and after I leave tonight, I don’t think I’ll be welcome back for a while.”

“How long, exactly,” Brandon drawls, suppressed rage lapping at the corners of his sentence. It comes across like teasing but the answer isn’t funny. Nonetheless, the fact that he’s allowing her to drag it out rather than spilling the news himself is a kindness he offers out of love for her. She understands that much.

Still, Lya hesitates. It’s unlike his firebrand sister, and he almost shows mercy, when she finally blurts out, “about seven more months, because I’m pregnant.” She sends a sheepish look at Ned, which is telling, and further explains, “and Rhaegar Targaryen is the father. Because we’ve been seeing each for a while. A year and a half, actually. I’m sorry for not telling you, Ned. I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

Ned’s face drains of all colour, which is a feat considering he’s already the palest in their family. His brow furrows as if he’s being presented with a particularly hard math problem. Ben lets out a nervous, guilty laugh, but goes silent after Brandon shoots him a warning glare.

“That’s,” Ned stumbles through his words, “certainly a lot. Is he- are you going to keep the baby? I mean, is that what you want? And does… does _Rhaegar_ know? Is he, you know, accepting of the child? But if you want to keep it, that doesn’t matter obviously. We’ll all help you. I have a lot of questions, though.” Ned’s face is a cross between bewildered and determined. 

“And I will answer them,” Lyanna assures him, before looking over her shoulder at the guard doing rounds who has spotted them, “but right now, I think Bran and I should split.”

“Wait. I could come with you, Lya, to help you and the baby” Ben pouts. They’re rarely apart, and the gravity of Lyanna’s upcoming exile is just now occurring to their youngest sibling.

“I wish you could, Benny boy,” Lyanna responds from where she is currently putting pressure on the unfortunate guard’s throat until he passes out. It’ll last a few hours at most, she is simply buying time. Ned lowers the man to the floor. “But you shouldn’t suffer for my choices, and if you come with me, who knows what dad will do. We’ll see each other soon, I promise.”

The two youngest embrace each other, hugging so tight it has to hurt. Lyanna’s sniffles make her voice thick when she speaks into Ben’s ear, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into all this, but I love you to death and back, Benjy.” Ben lets out some sniffles of his own and responds in kind. They truly are the sweetest children.

Lyanna moves to Ned next, shyly reaching out to him to gauge his emotional state. Eddard is by far the one whose loyalties between Rickard and his siblings conflict the most, but he showed up for her tonight without even knowing what the reason for all the subterfuge was. Ned crushes her into a bear hug, and the two simply breath in tandem for a minute. “We’ll speak soon, sister,” he swears, and Lyanna kisses his cheek in appreciation.

Later, when they are in the car speeding away, he will butt righteous heads with his willful little sister, and some time that night Brandon will even make an honest man of Rhaegar, who allows him the first promised punch but anticipates the second. For now though, he wraps his arms around Ned and Lya, with Ben joining in after stepping over the two unconscious bodies laid out neatly, and Brandon relishes the moment of their wolfpack altogether in Winterfell.

“Let’s be on our way, brother,” Lyanna reluctantly breaks the circle. And so they are, Winterfell retreating into the rising dawn as they race towards the city, towards a future less certain than yesterday’s.


	2. Ned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While coordinating a surprise for Brandon, Ned faces a surprise of his own when Ashara comes home early. The ghost of the past makes it three (and a party!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *draws aside curtains* behold, the ned/brandon/ashara/catelyn love rhombus! no infidelity to see here, just a boat load of complex emotions.

_Remain patient,_ Ned repeats to himself like a mantra, as he attempts to configure the crib in front of him. It’s the same model he had assembled when Robb was born, only four years prior, but the instructions seem to have gotten substantially more complex. This is supposed to be a surprise for first-time father Brandon, who would ideally be returning home to an intact nursery, but Lyanna and Benjen had finished their portions an hour prior and left him alone.

Not that they were the best measures to which Ned should compare himself. When he had nudged the hanging swing earlier, it had quivered, which told him everything he needed to know about Lyanna’s diligence. Ben was just fast, always had been. Ned was much more thorough.

He expects to be alone for a few more hours, but the sound of the door slamming brings him out of his musings. He stepped out of the nursery as quietly as possible to investigate the noise. If Brandon had come home early, well, Ned would simply confess, and they could build the crib together. Four hands were better than two.

He should have been so lucky, Ned curses himself, when he catches sight of Ashara assembling some cheese slices and olives onto crackers at the kitchen island. She’s humming to herself, nibbling as she moves, and when Ned clears his throat to announce himself, she looks up as if she had expected him. 

“Eddard,” she greets him, in a voice so soft it makes his stomach twist.

“Afternoon, Ashara. I apologize for the intrusion. My siblings and I were putting together a few things for you and Brandon, as a surprise, and we thought we’d be gone by your return. They left a bit ago, but I’m still stuck on a few things.” 

She shrugs, the purple dress she’s wearing moving like liquid across her pregnant figure. “It’s no problem. I expected an invasion from you all at some point, we all know Brandon is too hard-headed to ask for help. Would you mind if I took a look at what you all completed?” Ned couldn’t resist if he wanted to.

The nursery is half a mess, but Ashara coos at all the furniture nonetheless. She especially enjoys the wallpaper Lyanna had done a relatively decent job of applying to alternating walls, the rainbow pastel background with tiny designs in white adorable even to Ned, who didn’t give much of a shit for interior design. Cat had single handedly done their own nursery three times over at this point, the newest rendition in preparation for their hotly awaited boy. Their baby’s nursery was bright green, with cartoon animal accents everywhere.

Brandon had actually helped quite a bit with it, during the week when Ashara had kicked him out, forcing him to stay at Winterfell for the duration of his exile. Ned had walked in on him and Cat sitting a whisper too close to each other on the floor with paint swatches spread out around them, and Brandon had returned home the following day.

Ned shakes off that memory. Brandon has never truly wanted Cat, he’s just a chronic flirt, and although in her heart she likely found Brandon attractive and amusing, Ned was certain Cat loved himself. At the least, neither of them would ever hurt him by crossing the line. 

Ashara turns to him with a lovely smile. She tells Ned that she is going to change into something comfortable, and then help him assemble. Ned protests that she doesn’t have to, but she insists. Before long, she returns, wearing a soft cream t-shirt and skinny black pants that she likely considers ‘casual.’ The plain clothes make her engagement ring impossible to miss, a showy set of diamonds arranged like a falling star, an homage to her family home that surely won Brandon many points. 

“So, the crib?” she asks, while putting her long hair in a high ponytail. “Yeah,” Ned says, returning to the task he had wished to abandon before. Oddly, he finds he no longer minds it. Four hands were better than two, after all. 

“Ready to be a father yet again?” Ashara asks, breaking the companionable silence. Ned laughs lightly, “I am. I always wanted a big family, and we’re slowly getting there.”

Ashara hums. “I remember you saying that. Not too slow, though. Three kids in five years seems like a downright rollercoaster to me.” Ned pauses at the memory she brought up. He’s not sure if he should address it further, but decides to play it safe. Trips down memory lane do no one any good.

“It honestly is. We were planning on waiting a bit longer with this one, but things just happened. It’s nice, though, that all the children will be close enough in age,” he carefully replies. 

“Right, I’m happy about that too. Arthur is the only one I was close in age to growing up, and we had barely any cousins to speak of. Allyria came much later. I’m not complaining, but it was a bit lonely,” she says, focused on the work she is doing with her hands. She goes on, fitting the piece she just completed to its correct place on the crib’s skeleton, which Ned then drills in, “it seems like the Stark family is returning to glory.”

She smiles at him, and he smiles back. 

“You’ll be a Stark one day, too,” he says, the only reply he can think of. She shakes her head, “I won’t change my name, I don’t think. _Ashara Stark_ doesn’t have much of a sound to it. Besides, Brandon and I aren’t like you and Catelyn.” Her honesty startles him.

“Ashara,” he starts, then wavers, then commits, “I don’t mean to pry, but, is Brandon good to you?” She gives him a look.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she says easily, like she isn’t blowing the lid off the chest of _them_ that he’s kept shut tight all these years. 

“I apologize,” he says sincerely.

“No need,” she breezes, “you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t try to take care of all the people around you. It’s sweet that hasn’t changed about you.”

“That’s me,” he aims for a joke to lighten the atmosphere, “consistent to the end.” She rewards his efforts with a laugh.

“To answer your question, though, Brandon is a good man. Fatherhood is going to kick his ass, but he’s a good guy. We butt heads, but that’s just because our blood runs hot,” she confides in him. He makes a gruff noise of agreement, ending the conversation, before attaching the final piece to the crib. 

“Voila,” Ned announces with exaggerated flourish, standing up to present the final construction. She claps and gasps theatrically. Ned holds out his hand that she might stand up with his help, six months pregnant as she is, but once she is standing, she promptly doubles over. 

“ _Ugh_ ,” she groans, a hand to her stomach. Ned holds her up with his hands and panics a bit. “Shit, Ashara, do you need the doctor? I can call them for you,” he worries, trying to get her to look him in the eye. 

“No,” she bites out, “it’s these stupid Braxton-Hicks contractions, I get them every couple days. Would you mind taking me to the couch?”

Of course, he doesn’t. Without jostling her too much, he puts her over his shoulder in the bent position she is already in, and easily lifts her. Certainly she was much lighter than Cat had been at six months, despite being taller. Ned wonders if that’s a cause for concern.

When he sets her down on the couch, she’s still in pain, so he sits next to her head. At her request, he grabs a pillow, and she puts it on his lap before laying her head on it. Ned is uncomfortable with the contact, but then chastises himself for making it all about himself when Ashara is in so much pain.

“Can I get anything for you?” he asks softly. She points to a water bottle on the coffee table within reach, which he provides her without getting up. She drinks a bit, the burrows back into the fetal position, one hand cradling the bump at her stomach and the other hanging off the couch limply. Ned pulls it up, just to arrange it next to her so that she will be comfortable, but she grasps his hand and doesn’t let go. _Damnit_ , Ned thinks to himself, but rubs her knuckles with his thumb nonetheless, to offer some comfort. 

After ten minutes, it seems the pain has lessened, because she lets go of his hand and rotates onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Sorry, Eddard,” she apologizes, which he dismisses. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was here to help. Sorry I couldn’t do more, Cat doesn’t really get these too much, so I wasn’t sure what you needed.”

For the first time in a long time, Ashara reacts to Catelyn’s name with a shudder. “Well, Catelyn’s lucky,” she replies. Ned gets the feeling she’s not just talking about the contractions.

 _Do you miss me_ , Ned wonders, not for the first time. _If you could go back would you have chosen me?_ As easily as the thoughts come, Ned scolds himself. He’s a father and a husband. He can no longer afford such a weakness. 

His attempts at mental self-discipline are useless because she interrupts his thoughts to reminisce, “do you remember when we did karaoke that one time?”

“Of course I do,” he responds after a beat of silence. Her eyes look watery from his angle. If she starts crying, he’s done for.

“Kind of incredible how significant that night was, in retrospect. I wish I could live that night over again,” she says wistfully. He makes another noise of agreement, and permits himself the recollection. 

She was the gorgeous girl from his calculus class at university, who had been there for someone or other’s birthday party. Brandon, he, and Lyanna had been there for no real reason, just an excuse to spend time together and embarrass each other with horrible song choices. Lyanna had broken up with Robert several months prior, after he’d cheated, and Ned still wasn’t on speaking terms with his childhood best friend. She had met Rhaegar Targaryen that night, and Ned had formally been introduced to Ashara. Brandon was remarkably sober, sober enough to notice Ned’s furtive glances at the girl he’d already known intimately, a fact Ned only learned later, and had bawdily roped them into doing a duet together. It was stupid, just Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, chosen by Lyanna as a laugh, but it had been so much fun that when he kissed Ashara that night, he had kissed her through a smile. Miraculously, she had kissed back, and for a few months they were so happy that the memories physically ached.

“Ashara,” Ned sighed, unable to stop himself from being gentle with her name. She sat up, although not without difficulty, keeping her legs tucked into her. “Eddard,” she replies. _Always Eddard, never Ned, even after all this time_ , Ned noted, not without regret.

But he knew what he had to say, even if he took no joy in saying it. Better to do it now than drag it out. She had taught him that.

“You know that at one point I loved you very deeply,” he began, face solemn and voice grave, “and I still think very highly of you. But you chose Brandon. I respect that choice, and I would hate for us to have any ill-will between us, because you are important to me. We are family now, regardless of what happens between you and Brandon. And that’s all we can ever be.”

Her plump lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry. “I know that,” she says, hanging her head down before raising it to look at him, “and I know we are both happy now. I just wonder, at times, how different things could be. These parallel pregnancies aren’t helping.”

He bites the inside of his mouth. She searches his face, but her expression is resigned. “Do you remember why I chose Brandon?” she asks, not cruelly. He nods, but it’s not convincing. She goes on, “it was because you loved me better, but he loved me completely. Even at my worst, he was always there. Things between us changed when you found out I had sex with Brandon before we had met. I just didn't think we could get past that, the way things were.”

Ned’s heart is so heavy, but he can’t resist torturing himself a bit more by asking the question he couldn’t muster at the time, “and if I could have? Would you have chosen differently, if I had been able to accept that?” Ashara shoulders dropped.

“Yes, Eddard,” she admits softly, “I would have.” Ned leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes to gather himself. He thinks of Catelyn at home, with delightful little Robb running around the backyard, and tiny Sansa practicing her steps. He thinks of Brandon's hearty laugh and quickness to reaction. That’s his family, and he loves them more than life itself. He is a devoted father, a faithful partner. They deserve as much and more from him. Ashara, as badly as he had wanted her once, could never be more than that.

“I wanted to be that man,” Ned says, cracking the tense silence. “Believe me, Ashara, I wanted to be better. I just couldn’t do it. I had this inferiority complex about him, and it wasn’t your fault at all. It was mine. I just had to go and prove myself right, and I regret failing you. But,” and he pauses, considering his words, “I don’t regret how we ended up. I love Catelyn, and our family. It almost frightens me what I would do for their sake. And I’m sure, once this baby comes, you will feel the same way.”

Ashara waits for him to speak more, but when she realizes he is finished, she simply leans her whole body against the back of the couch and gazes at him with her ocean deep eyes. She looks exhausted. He likely does too. This conversation was a long time coming, but it’s left him defenseless. 

“You’re right,” she finally agrees, and it feels like forgiveness, “and you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t feel that way.” She scoots her body over to him, and takes his hand in hers.

“The baby is kicking,” she informs him, before placing his hand on her bump. Sure enough, the child kicks. It was a strong one, too, so it must hurt, but Ned is still amazed, despite having felt babies kick many times over. His mother, Lyanna, and Catelyn have all let him feel their babes make themselves known, and Ned never gets tired of it.

Ashara lays her head on his shoulder while he follows the kicks with his palm. He laughs when the baby meets his palm directly, and she laughs, and they laugh together when it happens again. If she cries a few tears, he doesn’t say a word.

“I think I need a nap,” she says when the kicking has been over for a few minutes, which Ned naturally understands. He helps her to the bedroom she shares with Brandon, a room of romantic reds and whites, accented with fresh flowers that are no doubt set for automatic deliveries by Brandon, who for all his faults, loves her. Their family’s ancestral sword hangs above the bed, a bit gaudy, but that’s Brandon’s style. He brings Ashara the crackers she had been eating, assembled on a plate to satisfy her cravings, as well as a tall glass of ice water. She thanks him, and asks him to play the Desert Nights white noise track from her phone through the room’s speakers, a gentle, peaceful collection of sounds which he knows for a fact helps her unwind. By the time he leaves, she has already succumbed to sleep, as beautiful in rest as she is in everything.

He cleans up the remnants of the nursery and re-fills the water bottle from the living room just in case such an event as today happens again, and nobody is here to help her. 

Lyanna and Ben return soon enough, to unveil the nursery. 

“Shush,” he sternly tells them, for what feels like the fifteenth time. He’s keeping the place quiet so Ashara doesn’t wake. They nod, but after a few minutes start back up making too much noise again.

When Bran comes home, he is surprised and overjoyed to see what they did for him, slapping them all on the back and lifting Lya into the crib as a lark. Ned tells him Ashara was in pain earlier, and is sleeping it off, and Brandon checks on her. 

“Thanks, Ned,” Brandon hums, when he returns with the plate of cracker crumbs to put in the washer. “She’s been having a tough time lately, having every shitty symptom in the book. Hopefully the doula can start coming over more regularly, that woman is like a witch. If this kid wants to be an only child, she’s being very persuasive.” 

Lyanna chimes in to say it’s not a bad idea, she had a doula with her second pregnancy that brought about Rhaenys and Visenya, because she was having trouble putting on enough weight to carry twins, and those services helped immensely. Ben asks if they should order in some Dornish takeout, which the four of them agree on, and Brandon orders all of Ashara’s favorites and claims to have forgotten all of his siblings. Many jokes are had at this. Ashara herself joins them then, fresh from a relaxing shower, and Ned decides he has to go, because even though Lysa is with Cat, Ned knows she prefers him to be home as much as possible. 

They all say goodbye to him with love and cheer, and Ashara has genuine verve in her eyes when she hugs him farewell. He won’t stay away long, he promises, as he waves goodbye.

When Ned finally makes it out to the private driveway, he looks back up to the second floor, but there is no one looking down at him from the nursery window. That doesn’t surprise him. She never watches him leave, and soon he’ll stop looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled w/writing ned because his book chapters all had the dreamy vibe of a man with regrets. even much later in his life, ned has survivor's guilt over the death of his family, and cannot speak of ashara with catelyn when she asks him. also, obv, ashara is pregnant with arya in this, and catelyn with bran.
> 
> if you're in the christmas spirit, let me know your thoughts!


	3. Lyanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna goes hunting when she catches wind of a war coming. The wolf pack falls into formation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some lyanna pov :') she's 37 in this, and jon is 17, for general reference.

A common perception of Lyanna is that she is a simple, stubborn woman, loyal to her husband and her brothers. Lyanna thinks that’s a crock of shit because all four of those men are idiots who would be lost without her. Rhaegar wouldn’t be half the man he is if it weren’t for how high her standards are, a sentiment he voices often. _My lover cannot make me less_ , she had implored him to never forget on one of the first nights they spent together. He rises to the task of loving her everyday, and for that, she is able to make a family and a life with him.

He is currently on her bad side, though.

“Tywin’s plotting,” she tells him, which he agrees with easily enough. “He always is, my love,” he sighs, and goes right back to reading his reports.

“Against _my_ family,” she clarifies, to which he replies, “ours, actually. Amongst others, no doubt.” Jon slinks into their home then, sweaty from tennis lessons, and the conversation ceases. Lyanna decides to handle Tywin Lannister on her own, as a reminder of what the she-wolf is capable of. Clearly, reminders are needed.

She starts by expanding the existing internship program directly to her own doorstep at Stark Industries, which is concentrated on developing new methods of working with metals and other indigenous materials useful in the creation of energy-harvesting technologies specific to the remote Northern regions. It’s an ongoing effort, and Lyanna rose in the company to ultimately spearhead the R&D division that handles it. Chemistry is her educational background, but she would say her work is half science, half business.

Then, she mentions the position to Jon and Robb while they’re playing video games in Ned’s den one day, offhandedly. 

“We’re looking for someone around your age, with the idea that they would be eligible for the Winterfell undergraduate grant afterwards, so they would become independent from family support,” she says, knowing fully well that she lost their interest five minutes ago, “can you two think of anyone who might be a good fit?”

Robb huffs from where he just died in the game. “Sorry, Aunt Lya, Theon might be, but he’s already in university and all.” She hums. She wouldn’t hire the Greyjoy boy anyways. Their Human Resources department wouldn’t survive such an employee.

Lyanna pushes. “Jon?”

Her seventeen year old son looks at her, raising an eyebrow in interest. He can tell that she is fishing for a very specific catch right now. She smiles kindly, and he ponders the request.

“Gendry,” he concludes, solving the puzzle. Such a brilliant boy.

“I think he’d be excellent. Great idea, Jon. Do you mind letting him know about it? The application turnaround is fairly quick, but I can help him out if he needs anything,” she offers, trying to gauge his comprehension. Lately she has been doing this more - trying to get Jon to arrive at his own conclusions using basic clues, instead of simply explaining situations. It’s good practice for when he’s older, and needs to look out for himself. He’s proven adept so far.

When his eyes widen, she knows he’s understood. One, this is time sensitive. Two, Gendry is who she had in mind when she opened the internship. Three, and the most important, is that she’s trusting him with this task. “Of course, Mama,” he smiles confidently at her.

A few weeks later, Gendry attends his first day with the Stark Industries' Research and Development department.

“Thank you for offering me this opportunity, Mrs. Targaryen,” Gendry thanks her, in a voice deeper than his sixteen years. He is a handsome young man, all the best parts of his father’s face, with none of the horrific personality.

“None of that now,” Lyanna laughs warmly, “Lyanna will do when we’re at work. In formal situations when you have no other choice than to use my title, it’s actually Dr. Stark-Targaryen.”

Gendry grins sheepishly, then catches himself and returns to scowling. Lyanna sympathizes. He’s not had it easy, Robert’s bastard that he brought into his marriage to Cersei. Blended families are delicate, and Robert has little use for delicate.

Which almost makes her feel bad about taking advantage of him this way, but she reassures herself that the boy will come to no harm, and he’ll be free of his father’s financial influence if he plays his cards right.

“Just to introduce you, I want to do an experiment. We do a lot of sequencing in this lab, mainly to identify materials that we come across during mining expeditions. Just to show you the ropes, in a way you might enjoy, would you be interested in sequencing your DNA? The interns usually get a kick out it.”

Perhaps she’s overselling it. It’s necessary, though. Getting this close to Robert would have been impossible without allowing him liberties that Rhaegar would murder him for taking, and Cersei guards her own litter like they’re gold. 

In comparison? Gendry didn’t stand a chance. 

She shows him the ins and outs after the DNA sequence starts, handing him off to Howland when she gets a notification that the results are in. Howland is her most trusted partner, who graciously agreed to supervise Gendry directly. She’s a busy woman after all, although her next hour will be spent on a more personal task.

“I’m sorry I won’t be around as much, but Howland is our resident alchemist,” she assures him, and Gendry gives her a shy smile that Lyanna truly cherishes.

“Pleased to meet you, Gendry,” Howland narrows his eyes knowingly at Lyanna when he’s shaking the boy’s hand, “I’m not actually an alchemist, but these philistines I call coworkers can’t tell the difference between magic and science.”

Lyanna leaves them to it. She closes her office door, feeling practically feverish, and pulls up the DNA profiles she had carefully collected of her suspects.

The first suspect was one Mya Stone, currently in the field at the Moat Cailin site. Lyanna had first suspected her when she reviewed the logs from the expedition, and noticed that the site went dead around the same time in the pre-dawn morning everyday. It could have been a logistical issue, but when she reviewed the tech readings, that didn’t make sense. It was her own design, implemented after several years of high-intensity testing. _Somebody was turning it off,_ was the only explanation, and after a glance at the team roster, Mya’s face had stood out. 

One of Robert’s bastards was not a concern in and of itself. The man couldn’t possibly keep track of them all. One of Robert’s bastards and strange tech behaviour was more worrying. One of Robert’s bastards, strange tech behaviour, and the news of the Golden Bank of Lannisport partnering with Roose Bolton to fund aggressive mining efforts in the North was a conspiracy.

And then, there was the matter that it wasn’t simply _one_ of Robert’s bastards.

The second suspect was another young woman with black hair and bright blue eyes that danced with mirth. Her name was Bella Rivers, and the connection was easy enough to make there. She worked in the belly of the beast, with Brandon’s reconnaissance team, who specialized in intelligence gathering on the other families. Bella’s area was the Stoney Sept, a notorious Baratheon stronghold in the Riverlands that even their strong Tully connections didn’t grant them access to. The girl’s in was simply too valuable for them to pass up. For that reason, her ascent to her position had been easy, although Howland told her that the girl had left a string of broken hearts in her wake. _Robert’s daughter, that one._

Lyanna’s third suspect was a bit more complex. Another woman, she did have the Baratheon look of black hair and blue eyes, but it wasn’t the precise shade of blue, or the right thickness of black locks. Getting a DNA sample off of her had been a massive pain, the woman seeming to despise all touch. She was also too old to be Robert’s child, and for all that Robert had turned out badly, Steffon had been a good, honest man. Ned and Rhaegar both testified to that, which had thre a wrench into Lyanna’s detective work. 

“Tysha,” Lyanna had gone to her personally when her schemes had proven unfruitful, “I had a question about one of the prototypes you created for me. Do you mind walking with me?” 

“Of course, ma’am,” Tysha had acquiesced, although seeming scared half to death, her shoulders tensing when doors closed behind them, or when hallways were empty save for them. _What did Robert do to you_ , Lyanna remembers thinking in horror. 

Tysha was a relatively competent employee, grasping the ropes of their indoor farming schematics quite quickly. In one of their greenhouses, she had requested some of Tysha’s hair, the pretext being that it would be added to the modified plants as a test of fertilization. Finally, she had the DNA of all three suspects.

All that was left was something to compare it to.

Gendry was a neat solution. It also gave her pleasure to steal him away from Cersei, who had enjoyed torturing him for far too long. 

Clicking through her program, the comparison results rewarded her suspicions. Mya was an absolute match - her and Gendry were beyond a doubt related, and within the past generation at most. Bella was less so, a match from somewhere in the past three generations, but genetics were fickle sometimes. Gendry’s mother was an unknown factor, as was Bella’s, but this wasn’t a rigorous test, so Lyanna marked Bella down as ‘most likely’ Robert’s child.

Tysha, as she had feared, was not so clean a match, sharing around the amount of DNA structures with Gendry, Mya, and Bella that any random strangers might. So she wasn’t a Baratheon, was clearly battered, and following those lines of logic, was the one with the most to lose and the least to gain for her spying efforts. That made her the most obvious target for counter-intelligence.

Lyanna swallows down any guilt. Tysha deserved better than this, but, as always, family came first.

She calls a meeting in their war room with all available members of the Stark inner council summoned. The notebook in her hand feels heavier than usual as she greets Brandon, Ned, Ben, Maege Mormont, Howland, Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, and Rodrik Cassel.

She weighs the room. Greatjon is a misogynist and an oaf who respects no one, but ultimately answers to Brandon. Galbart is also Brandon’s man, while Rodrik is Ned’s. Maege and Howland are loyal to her. Ben doesn’t bother to pack rooms with loyal supporters, a lone ranger if there ever was one, so Lyanna counts him in her camp. By her calculations, she only truly needs to convince one other person in this room of her theory in order to have a majority. She grins. This won’t take long.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” she begins, entering the code into her locked notebook and opening to her notes. Concealed inside are several pictures as well, which she now removes.

The first one on the table is Mya. “This young lady began working on our Moat Cailin mission six moons ago. She’s been tampering with the camp radar tech every morning, likely so that she can send messages to her handlers undetected. It would have shown up as a blip, except that it happens at the same time each day, which tells me she’s a mole of convenience and not experience. I don’t have to remind you what’s happening at Moat Cailin, probably our most sensitive site.”

Bella is next. “This young lady requires no introduction. She came to us offering us invaluable access into the Riverlands, and we swallowed the bait. We paid her with access to intel on every significant actor known to us, from the Neck down to Dorne. Her rise to her position was meteoric, and almost nothing is known about her background.”

She pauses. Lays down the picture of Tysha. “This woman is 28, a plant scientist working in R&D itself, who has expressed a lot of interest in our edible prototypes meant to grow quickly, in short growing seasons, to feed rural populations in barren areas.”

Then comes the picture of Roose. She can see things coming together in Howland’s eyes, the magician, but every other stare remains blank. “Everyone in this room knows, mistrusts, fears, and depends on Roose. Everyone in this room has heard that Roose is cementing a deal with Lannisport to mine on his land. Moat Cailin has been an incredible source of innovation in the fields of transfiguration, transportation, energy, and others, much of which can be linked to Howland’s efforts and knowledge, which he graciously shares with us,” everyone nods respectfully to Howland, praise he accepts easily, then turns their attention back to Lyanna. 

“But we cannot ignore that such innovations are ripe for weaponry development. We’ve dabbled in it ourselves. Mining the Dreadfort would require immense amounts of manpower, who would be fed likely using the North-specific techniques being developed by our plant sciences department. Having a pulse on all the comings and goings of our neighbors and friends would easily allow Roose and Tywin to frame us in the future as developers of the weapons they produce, or woo our allies away from us, which could bring about the ruin of House Stark.” 

She takes a deep breath. Analyzes the temperature of the room. They’re all listening attentively, most of them leaning forward with their elbows on the table. That’s all the permission she needs to deliver the killing blow.

“This may all seem a bit circumstantial. So I took the liberty of digging deeper,” The picture of Gendry, followed by a picture of the Lannister-Baratheon clan consisting of Tywin, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, Robert, and the three trueborn children are the final ones placed on the table. “Gendry is Robert’s, we all know. I sequenced his DNA against Mya and Bella. They’re both Robert’s bastards. Tysha is not a Baratheon to my knowledge, but she is nonetheless connected.”

She places two pieces of paper on the table, explaining each one. “This is a divorce decree. These are records from a community hospital in the heart of the Riverlands. The records list an abortion for one Tysha Silverfist, paid for with an Amex Black. Likely untraceable, which is enough proof that the pregnancy was Lannister business. The divorce is between Tysha Silverfist and Tyrion Lannister, and a quick look at the handwriting indicates distress at the time of signing. I believe we have moles in our midst, and that the Lannisters, through financial blackmail of Robert’s bastards, as well as Tyrion’s ex-wife, placed them here.”

She takes a seat then. Ned is taking a closer look at the pictures. The resemblance to Robert must be unsettling. 

Greatjon goes first, as she knew he would. “You women and your conspiracy theories,” he complains. “Roose may be a bastard, but why would he sell out the North? He’s been loyal all his life.”

Maege steps in, “why do men do anything? For coin, and women, and greed, I’d say.” The bickering begins there, with language that would get a Twitter account permanently suspended being volleyed back and forth. Lyanna shrugs it off. It’s not them who matter.

Brandon, Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen set their sights on each other. Theirs is the pack, after all. 

“Robert was once a friend, but age has only made him bitter, and I don’t put such a betrayal past him,” Ned speaks softly, the rest of the table going hush. “I could not see that before, but I see it well enough now. Lyanna’s information appears credible. We must act.”

“Oh, we’ll act,” Brandon promises darkly, throwing back the glass of whiskey he’d prepared for himself, “I have half a mind to send them back heads.”

Lyanna shivers. She is about to protest, when Ned steps in and forbids such an act. “They’re not the masterminds here, Brandon. They’re clumsy children. We need to root out Roose.”

“We’ll make an example of him,” Brandon amends his earlier threat with a new target. This, Lyanna agrees with. The rest of the room was silent as stone, but now breaks out in choruses of agreement.

“I never liked that slimy fucker,” Galbart weighs in. Rodrik agrees, “you can’t trust a man with two dead wives. Let’s not forget young Domeric’s fate. We were perhaps fools to tolerate Roose this long, but how can we say that eliminating Roose will end this issue? His son and heir is in prison for crimes so vile I won’t describe them. He will inherit the Dreadfort once he is released, and he _will_ be released, and that’s no better.”

“He won’t make it out of prison,” Ben finally joins the conversation, his eyes ablaze. “The wheels are already in motion. He killed Domeric, and that’s enough crime in my eyes to warrant him a death sentence. Not that any of Roose’s other men are any better.” Lyanna vocally agrees, but Rodrik’s words are important ones.

It’s an issue she’s grappled with, and she has a solution to propose. “The Lannisters and Roose sealed their bond in more than just words, you know. Tywin’s sister is married to one Emmon Frey, whose niece, Walda, is now the third Mrs. Bolton. She had a daughter a year ago, who drowned in a well. No great mystery how that happened. Apparently, she’s carrying again. If she wants this one to see adulthood badly enough, we can bring her to our side.”

Greatjon scoffs, and stands. “And rest the North on a woman, weak Frey blood and all? You’ve lost your damn mind.” 

Ben responds so she doesn’t have to. “No. We’ll promise to look after her and the child so long as she appoints us legal stewardship over the Dreadfort until the child is of age. By the time she returns, the land will have been mined to death, and all the materials will be above board. Easily traceable from buyer to seller. Children drop like flies at the Fort, if the Lannisters want a claim to that land, they need the child alive. Without Roose or Ramsay, they have no choice but to leave the land in our hands for now, or risk losing their golden goose down a well.”

A host of other concerns are voiced, and discussed, until the sun has set deep below the horizon, but Lyanna won the moment she stepped foot in this room.

“All in agreement,” Brandon’s voice booms from where he is standing, a dagger carved from a direwolf tooth in his hand.

“All in agreement,” choruses around the table, and thumbs are slit, the pact sealed in blood. 

Lyanna sits in the room with her siblings, after every other party has been dismissed. “Impressive work,” Ned observes, looking over Lyanna’s journal notes and doing mental calculations. Brandon is having a third drink, having taken a glance earlier. 

“There is one last question to discuss, I think,” Lyanna says, to groans from Brandon and Benjen. Ned simply listens, bless his heart. “A project like this will last years. It’ll be labor on many fronts, and require a balanced hand. None of us are getting any younger.”

“You want to involve the children,” Ned states, not visibly agreeing or disagreeing. Simply noting. 

Ben shrugs, no children of his own to offer up to the table, but always having an opinion nonetheless. “They’re old enough, I’d say. Robb is particularly well-suited to oversee the mining. He’s a natural leader. Jon is a bit too hesitant for my likes, but I believe he’d do well with the farming initiative for the surrounding area. I know Rhaegar’s grooming him for Dragonstone, but getting to know the North and hard work wouldn’t hurt him.”

Lya makes a noise in the back of her throat, “Rhaegar is grooming them all for Dragonstone, but we spoke last night, and he agrees with you about Jon. Rhaenys and Sansa are much too soft, but Vis is starting in one of our labs soon. She can be so vicious. The North will teach her restraint.”

They all turn to Brandon, who seems deep in thought. A quiet Brandon is unnatural.

“Arya’s too young,” he warns, to a cacophony of agreement. _So is Ned’s boy Bran_ goes unsaid. Not that Catelyn would let Bran go. Bran was her special boy, and this was dangerous work. 

It’s a long minute before he offers his final judgement. “But I agree. It’s time to open the door.”

Lyanna leans back in her chair. The cut on her thumb throbs, and she sucks away the dried blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place much later than the other chapters cause i was tired of writing about babies and pregnancy, which i have no personal experience with?
> 
> i am pleased to announce that the next chapter is GAY


	4. Benjen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben knows who he is and what he wants. Now it's just a matter of getting everyone else on board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold there is sex here. also sibling bonding at the end. a little something for everyone.

“That one’s Visenya,” Benjen helpfully clarifies. The solemn ginger currently wearing a makeshift bib gives Benjen a glare, before amending his statement.

“Visenya, please take a spoon of the peas,” Jon Connington requests of the four year old, who gleefully refuses. Bless his heart, he doesn’t stop trying, and by the time Jon and the twins are in bed, Ben has a brand new respect for him. Enough respect to pour him a glass of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s good wine, liberated from the locked cabinet by a special trick of the wrist Lya taught him herself. He has a laugh at the circumstance, setting a mental reminder to tell her about this at the annual Orphan Education Initiative brunch the following day. 

“You’d have us drunk while we’re meant to be caring for children,” Jon scowls when he is offered said glass upon returning to the common area. Ben rolls his eyes.

“This is clearly your first tourney. Those kids sleep like the dead, and it’s one drink. Suit yourself, though,” he retorts, leaving the second glass on the counter and moving to the couch. He’s pleased to see it in Jon’s hand when he joins him. And when the man drinks, Ben lightly observes the movement of his neck muscles, visible where the top buttons of his shirt lie undone. _Delicious_ , Ben thinks to himself. 

When Lyanna and Rhaegar went public, their respective social circles had clashed like black and navy blue. He himself was only sixteen when he met Jon Connington, Rhaegar’s left hand, to the end that Arthur was his right hand, right leg, left leg, and probably his kidneys. Lyanna confided in him that Jon’s devotion to Rhaegar concerned her, a conversation which had ended with Ben feeling nauseous as he confessed, “I think I might be gay, Lya” through tears. _I think I might be_ had rapidly become _I definitely am_ after a memorable weekend spent on a boat with the Blackfish himself, Catelyn’s lifelong bachelor of an uncle, directly following Ned and Cat’s wedding. Nobody knew about that, not even his dear sister. 

The point was, his tastes veered towards rugged, masculine, older men. And redheads.

All of which was looking him in the eye this precise moment.

Ever since happening upon that faceless, shirtless profile that would have been unrecognizable but for the griffin tattoo across the left bicep, Ben had toyed with the idea of seducing proud, rash, _handsome_ Jon Connington. Those plans were agonizingly slow, though, and after half a minute of reflection, Benjen decided to throw caution to the wind.

“So, Jon, after our babysitting experience tonight, do you want children of your own?” he teases. Another scowl is his reward. “I’ll take that as a no. I could have guessed. You know, considering.”

“Considering?” Jon cocked an eyebrow, voice deep and curious. _Got you,_ Ben preens.

“Well,” Ben prolongs, stretching a bit to place his glass on a table behind them, and tracking Jon’s heavy gaze that ends at his bum, “you tell me, Griffin Roost. Love the single nipple piercing, by the way. Very unique, not that you need help standing out.”

The reaction is immediate, and not what Ben wanted per se. He’s faster though, and closes his hand over Jon’s wrist before the man can get off the couch entirely. “Hey now, no need for that. I only saw you because I’m on there, too.” Ben offers up a sincere smile that he hopes displays his pure motives.

“Look, Stark,” the man who is now flushed red begins to bluster, but he doesn’t shake off Ben’s touch, “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here-”

“I’m trying to get your clothes off,” Ben interrupts, “if you’re interested.”

Jon gapes like he’s been punched in the stomach. He furrows his brow. He takes a minute. Ben starts to feel nervous, and removes his hand. If that’s the last time in his life he’ll touch the man, well, his heart won’t break.

“You want to have sex with me,” Jon finally says, voice completely devoid of emotion.

“You make it sound so romantic,” Ben huffs. This is starting to seem like more trouble than it’s worth, his head swimming in the pleasant warmth of wine.

“I’m not interested in a romantic relationship,” Jon warns.

 _That much is clear_ , Ben almost snorts. “I’m sorry, did I ask you to be my boyfriend? Unlike my siblings, I’m not looking to be locked down so early,” he says instead, finding the disclaimer humorous. Jon’s Grindr profile said much the same, proclaiming a desire for no strings attached sex, and not a breath beyond. “But I do want to enjoy myself, and I know you’re discreet. Plus, there’s the obvious.”

“At the risk of having a second heart attack,” Jon almost _jokes_ , “what is the obvious?”

Ben smiles invitingly, and slides a bit closer to his companion on the couch, “That I’m attracted to you. That I hope you’re attracted to me, too.” Ben giggles at himself, and Jon chokes out a laugh as well. 

“I didn’t realize you were… gay,” Jon says, expression reverting to entirely unreadable in a blink. No matter, because his body language speaks for itself. He’s strung so tight that Ben is afraid he’ll snap.

“Well, you’d be surprised what you might miss,” Ben shrugs. He doesn’t tack on that Jon misses a lot thanks to his single minded affection for beautiful, elegant Rhaegar. Not Ben’s personal taste, to be sure. Ben licks his lips, biting the bottom one as he invades Jon’s space further. When he receives no protest, he sets his hand rest on the patch of skin exposed at Jon’s throat. It’s hot. Ben says so.

“I run fairly warm,” Jon states neutrally. His eyes are on Ben’s face, even as the latter’s hand moves to caress his beard and run through his thick red hair. “Have a thing for red hair?” he asks, and Ben smiles bashfully. 

“Guess I have one thing in common with my siblings after that,” Ben jokes softly, thinking of Cat for a moment. He wants to kiss Jon, but guys like him sometimes dislike such affection.

“Do you mind kissing?” Ben asks, preferring explicit consent.

“I-,” Jon hesitates, “I usually do, honestly. But we can try,” that’s unenthusiastic, but Jon’s eyes haven’t left Ben’s lips since he said the word ‘kissing.’ His body language is definitely his tell.

So Ben kisses him. It’s hard, and their teeth meet more than once. He tastes blood, but he’s unsure where from. When air becomes a necessity, Ben takes Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth, eventually parting from him to hear the final judgement. Which he will be taking personally.

“I enjoyed that,” Jon decides, “but there’s a few other things I’d like more.”

Ben smirks triumphantly. Victory! “Well, do share,” he flirts, moving away. Jon frowns and pulls him back with a hand on the back. “I’d like to take this off, for one,” he says, one hand up Ben’s tight black cable-knit sweater. Ben obliges, raising his arms to assent to the insistent tugging. “Don’t stretch it,” he mumbles through the material, “it’s Armani.”

“So a massive pain to shrink back,” Jon sympathizes, surprising them both.

“Well, well, well,” Ben notes, a glint of mischief in his blue-grey eyes, “a closet case in more ways than one, I see. Tell me, was this shirt tailored to your extremely heterosexual specifications?” As Ben speaks, he is unbuttoning said shirt, ready for the heat of skin on skin. He wants to make this man go red all over.

“Very funny, Stark,” Jon says, after tearing the shirt off, evidently impatient with the slow pace, “in fact, all the Starks seem to be smart-asses. Another thing you have in common.” Ben notes that the nipple piercing is no longer. Tragic.

Jon handles Ben roughly, turning him around to lie him down on the couch, and then tracing his back muscles with his tongue. It’s not the most arousing thing, but the strength with which it is done excites Ben. He shrieks when he feels a hickey being sucked onto his tricep, for which Jon clamps a hand around his mouth.

“There are children here, you know,” Jon whispers hotly in his ear, before moving that same hand down around Ben’s waist, coming to cup his dick over his pants. As in all things, he uses more force than absolutely necessary, which Ben bucks into, already half-hard and rapidly hardening. He pushes his bum backwards and is rewarded with the knowledge that he’s not the only one.

Jon hisses and clamps his teeth on Ben’s earlobe, but sets a pace with his hips and hand that Ben would hazily describe as perfect. He arches his back, stretching and flexing his arms so that his back muscles become more prominent. That does the trick, and Jon begins rutting even harder.

“Wait,” Ben says, with great effort. Jon slows, but does not stop entirely. Aggressive, that one. “I’d like to finish you in my mouth, if that’s alright,” he says breathlessly. Ben’s oral fixation is out of control, but hey, everybody has something.

It clearly is alright, because Jon lifts off and sits on the couch breathing heavily. He’s red all over, much to Ben’s pleasure. This whole encounter has been much to Ben’s pleasure.

He sits up and pulls off his pants, then his socks, then his underwear. He likes to have a hand on himself during blowjobs, and despite his apparent wantonness, he recognizes that having full-on penetrative sex when one of the children could require their attention at any moment isn’t wise. Not that oral is much better, but it’ll be over faster. The rationale sounds weak, so he takes a moment to lock the door to the common area before he scars his nieces and nephews to death. He would die too, because Lya would kill him.

“Do you think those kids have ever walked in on Lyanna and Rhaegar doing it?” Ben asks, out of the blue. Immediately he regrets it, given the delicate emotional balancing act at play. Jon reacts badly, like Ben could have predicted if he used his brain.

“Don’t talk about him right now,” Jon harshly snaps, before looking mollified, “sorry, that came out wrong. I just don’t want to think about anyone else while we’re doing this.” It’s a sweet lie, and Ben sinks to his knees without another word. Jon hands him a pillow, _thoughtful_ , and he positions it beneath his knees. His cock has softened a bit during the whole exchange, but that doesn’t survive him unbuckling Jon’s belt, teasingly pulling it through the loops, dragging the buttons and zipper down, and finally unearthing the length of him, flushed red to the tip. 

“Nice,” Ben says, and they both laugh. No more words are needed as Ben swallows him down, exploring the size of him before fully committing. He uses his hands mainly to attend to the balls, because he doesn’t enjoy them in his mouth, but after Jon’s hand finds a place in his hair, he abandons that to stroke himself instead. That really gets things going, propelling him to suck harder and longer on each descent. 

Jon hisses loudly, before framing Ben’s face on either side with his overly large hands. His grip is tight, but mindful enough that Ben relaxes into it. From now on Jon will set the pace, which he does, at first through tight control of Ben’s head, and then promptly giving up in favor of fucking his face. It’s an unforgiving task, as Ben is held down as close to the base as he can go until he’s on the verge of passing out, but he has never shied away from a challenge. 

His head begins to buzz and time starts to fall off of him like water. Distantly, Ben recognizes he’s in drop, but of course there is nothing he can do about it. His throat opens even wider when Jon stands up to finish that way, not even bothering to ask if he’s allowed to come down Ben’s throat. It’s fine, though. Ben swallows deeply.

At some point his hand had fallen away from his own cock, so now that his job is done, he looks at Jon expectantly with red-rimmed eyes. Jon caves, and comes down to the floor as well. He brings Ben to straddle his lap and firmly takes a hand to him, using the other to knead Ben’s ass, biting lightly at his throat. Ben gasps and moans, unable to stop himself, sweet honey licking at all his senses. He fucks into Jon’s fist, and the man responds by using a finger to touch Ben directly in the most sensitive spot.

Ben cracks his eyes open to see if Jon is just messing with him, or actually wants to start something more elaborate, but instead is treated to the concentrated expression of a man who wishes dearly to please him. He can’t resist leaning forward and kissing Jon messily, even though if Jon dislikes kissing, and the addition of the taste of his own seed is surely unpleasant. Jon allows it though, opening his mouth and not uttering a word of protest. 

That brings Ben to a conclusion. He slumps over Jon, accidentally smearing himself over both of their abs, which he makes a gagging face at. They wrap their arms around each other at the same moment, Ben around Jon’s neck and Jon to rub Ben’s back. 

“Hot,” is Ben’s only comment. 

“I’d say,” Jon replies, equally uninterested in speaking further. 

They sit for a few idle moments before getting up to clean up and return to their clothes. After finishing off the bottle of wine and hiding the evidence, they retire to the guest bedroom, where they fool around a bit before falling asleep. Ben rises first in the morning, and finds Jon’s sleeping face hilarious, his mouth wide open. 

Getting the children ready isn’t difficult, except for Visenya who is playing the part of a wild, naked animal and does not relent until her twin sister begins bawling out of frustration. Ben lets them both have their pacifiers even though Rhaegar specifically said not to, that the girls are far too old for it. He steals them back before they arrive at the venue, concealing them at the bottom of the baby bag. It only works because Jon, Rhaenys, and Visenya are all so excited to see their parents and cousins that they barely notice Ben and Jon’s fussing.

“Papa!” Rhaenys squeaks, before running and jumping on her father. Rhaegar swings her in the air until she sits on his waist, and then picks up Visenya with the other arm to invade their cheeks with kisses. Ben shares a self-satisfied look with Jon. They did good, he reckons.

Rhaegar thanks them kindly, and Lya hugs him tightly. 

“Elbert pulled out all the stops for this one,” Ben notes, leaning at the bar with Lyanna. 

“He’s that kind of man,” Lyanna remarks, before fixing Ben with narrowed eyes. “Speaking of that kind of man, the collar of your shirt is not hiding those bite marks, brother. You didn’t have them when I saw you yesterday, so there are a few conclusions I could make right now.”

“It’s so funny, sometimes your mouth moves but Rhaegar’s detective voice comes out,” Ben laughs, then shrugs. “Don’t worry, it was the dead of night and all doors were locked. I did rob you of a nice vintage to get the evening going, though.”

Lyanna isn’t appeased, “I’m telling you that Ned is the one who noticed, and he told Bran, who told me, and you know they aren’t half as stupid as they look when they want to be.” That sobers Ben up a bit. He cringes, and looks for Jon, who is across the room in conversation with Rhaegar and Elbert about some donation or other. 

For the second time in 24 hours, Ben decides to throw caution to the wind. He grabs Lya’s hand and leads her back to the table, where Ned, Bran, and Cat are sitting. Ashara is absent because she does what she wants, a quality Ben richly admires. 

“Family,” he begins, sitting upright in his seat. They all turn to him, smiles on their faces. “It has come to my attention that a certain souvenir of mine is of interest to you all. Do I need to elaborate?”

“You mean the souvenirs you’re sporting around your neck?” Brandon grins wolfishly, “truly the accessory of the season, Benjy. I believe I might even match, but it would be indecent to check.” 

“Always a trendsetter,” Ben deadpans, before turning serious, “but actually, I have something to tell you all.” He takes a deep breath, squeezing Lya’s hand. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, or perhaps smiling so hard that she faints. The other three faces are openly curious. _This is the moment_ , he tells himself.

“I’m gay,” Ben no more than breathes out. They all hear him, though. Ned’s slightly slack jaw tells Ben that he is blown away. Brandon’s eyebrows are practically at his hairline. Cat appears to be trying very hard to not have a reaction at all. Lya is beaming, and then glowering at her brothers.

“So your… boyfriend, left those marks on your neck?” Ned lowly clarifies. Ben shakes his head, “no, I don’t have a boyfriend. And I’m not really looking for one either, because I have a lot going on in my life right now. These were left by a guy I like, but we’re not together. But just because I’m not looking for a relationship doesn’t mean I’m not sure about being-”

“Gay,” Brandon firmly interrupts, “yes, brother, so it is.” He stands up then, to his full impressive height and breadth. It would be intimidating if this weren’t _Bran_ , who struggles to feed fussy Arya her formula and enlists Ben’s help frequently. “I speak for all of us, when I say that we love you the same as ever, although it is a bit fucked that Lyanna clearly already knows.” Ben smiles, and stands up himself. He throws his arms around Bran and hugs the man tightly, even when he can barely breathe with all of Bran’s strength being used to return the embrace. Ned taps Bran on the shoulder, which gives Ben’s lungs some relief.

“I also love you the same as ever, Benny, and I’m not upset Lyanna knew first. It’s good that you do things on your own time, and I’m proud that you trust us,” he says, before hugging Ben with considerably less force. Brandon is rolling his eyes and fake barfing at Ned’s words, which makes Lyanna laugh.

Cat hugs him last, no words needed beyond, “you’re still the best uncle, Ben.”

By the time Rhaegar and Jon return to the table, Ben’s romantic and sexual history is being ruthlessly dissected. “Did we miss something,” Rhaegar asks, easily picking up the emotional atmosphere.

“Benny boy is out of the closet,” Lyanna shares happily, at which Brandon is indignant. “Oh, so he knew too?!” he exclaims, and that turns into a squabble between the two most combative of his siblings, with Ned as mediator. Rhaegar appraises Ben with knowing eyes.

“I am glad you are able to live your truth,” he notes simply, to which Ben nods appreciatively. He and Rhaegar don’t share many words, but he likes the man nonetheless. So long as he treats Lya well, at least. Rhaegar eyes become more intense, and flit to Jon, whose face is touched by a note of panic. Ben squirms. After half a minute, Rhaegar speaks, “and I hope that anyone whom you may choose to entertain understands the _necessity_ of treating you as you deserve, lest they suffer the consequences.” Satisfied with having delivered such a warning, he touches Benjen’s shoulder, and goes to Lyanna’s side to kiss the top of her head.

That leaves Ben with Jon. He takes a few steps away from his family for privacy’s sake. His brothers may accept him wholeheartedly, a reality which Ben is positively giddy about, but they’re also heteronormative enough in their thinking that they would never suspect rough Jon Connington to play on Ben’s team. 

“So,” he says, “guess I’m gay.” and smiles innocently. Jon sucks on his teeth loudly before replying, “congratulations. Some man will be lucky to have you in the future, I’m sure.”

Ben pouts. Does he have to do everything around here? “Appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not too worried about the future. Actually, there’s one man I’ve been thinking about lately. He’s super noncommittal, but secretly fun. My view is, we could be fun together, while I wait for that lucky future husband of mine to appear. No strings attached. Any thoughts?”

Jon winces, and then looks Ben right in the eyes. “I think you might be giving that man a lot of credit when you call him fun. But it seems to me that he’s amenable to your plan. No strings attached.”

Ben grins. He looks back at the table, from where Lya winks at him. Brandon and Ned are engaged in discussion, and Cat is talking parenthood with Rhaegar, who is surprisingly receptive to hearing about all the research into childhood development that is submitted to Cat’s Journal. 

He doesn’t love Jon, and is in no real danger of falling _in_ love with the man, but Ben wouldn’t want to love him, either. The people he already loves best are sitting around a table, having met a side of him they hadn’t before, and still accepting him just the same. Ben couldn’t dream of a better life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin!

**Author's Note:**

> in my mind stark industries is basically a quasi-governmental body that exercises control over Northern industry. idk how government would work in modern westeros, i'm writing it like some vaguely post-structuralist anarchist society in which loose federations form, creating the "kingdoms" we see from asoiaf without them being separate countries because borders suck.


End file.
